


We Take Care of Our Own

by cytheriafalas



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytheriafalas/pseuds/cytheriafalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repost from my lj. I don't really write glee fic anymore, but since I'm reposting everything else, I might as well do this too.</p>
<p>Puck gets a 911 text from Kurt. Blaine's been beaten up at Dalton, where they all thought he'd been safe. Puck knows it will happen again unless they do something about it, but Blaine thinks they'll just stop. They don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Puck, we have practice. Where are you going?” Finn said.

Puck turned around, one hand stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He kept his hand in his pocket, hoping Finn didn’t notice the guilty action. He didn’t want to have to answer any questions just yet. But if he did see, he didn’t say anything.

Finn was standing by the door to the choir room, pointing inside as though, after over a year, Puck didn’t know where they practiced. “Mr. Schue’s got something big planned today.”

“I’ve got something to take care of. I’ll be there.”

“Puck--”

“Finn, I’ll be there.”

Finn made a frustrated noise, but Puck ignored him, tossing a wave over his shoulder. He rounded the last corner before the door and pulled out his phone, keying up the last text.

 

From: Kurt Hummel

911 dalton west lot

 

He had no idea why Kurt had texted him rather than Finn or even Mercedes, but when Puck had called back, he only heard P!nk’s  _Raise Your Glass_  blaring out of his speakers, and then Kurt’s voicemail. All of which left Puck with no option but to drive all the way to Dalton. He made the trip in record time, and didn’t see a single cop on the way, which he figured was probably some kind of a sign.

He turned through the large gate marked with the giant wrought iron D and A. The main lot was almost empty, with the exception of a few of the teachers’ expensive cars. The East lot was still half-filled with cars more expensive yet. Most of them seemed to belong to the Dalton track team, as a full dozen cars were surrounded by guys stretching against tires and bumpers. To his right, signs proclaimed the West lot just around the corner.

With the exception of Kurt’s SUV--a re-gift from his father--the West lot was empty. Puck swung into a spot a few spaces away. Before he’d even finished pulling the key from the ignition, Kurt’s head appeared at his window. Kurt had the decency to wait until Puck had opened the door before latching onto Puck’s arm and half-pulling him down.

Puck managed to shut his door somewhere between falling out of the truck and breaking into a jog. He hadn’t quite gained his balance when Kurt sped up, and he stumbled, wrenching his wrist out of Kurt’s grip. Kurt turned around, looking to see what had happened, and Puck caught a glimpse of Kurt’s face. He grabbed for Kurt’s arm, swinging him around. Kurt fell still, head bowed. Puck grabbed Kurt’s chin, tilting his face up.

Kurt’s eyes were red and swollen with tears and a bruise was forming on one cheek. “What happened? Kurt?”

Kurt tugged on Puck’s arm. “Come  _on_.”

Surprised by Kurt’s strength, Puck staggered after him. As though beginning moving again unleashed a torrent of words, Kurt began speaking so swiftly that Puck could barely understand him.

“…Was waiting… Blaine… Three guys… Car… Stopped… Hit me… Blaine was… Alone…  _him_ … then--”

“Whoa. Slow down,” Puck said. Kurt ignored him, pulling him around to the other side of the car. The door to the rear passenger seat was open. Blaine was sitting there, his grey pants torn and stained at the knee. His blazer was slung over the front seat, but even that had tears and stains on it. His head was resting on the back of one hand.

Kurt wormed his way past Puck, perching deftly on the running board of his SUV next to Blaine. He pressed his shoulder to Blaine’s knee. Blaine leaned closer, his head still down. Kurt put his arm around Blaine’s legs.

“Let him see,” Kurt murmured.

“Kurt--”

“Honey, please.”

Blaine lifted his head, but kept his eyes down. For a long moment, Puck stared. Angry red scratches covered the left side of Blaine’s face, he had a split lip, and his skin was turning dark with bruises. The scratches had bled a little, which accounted for some of the blood on his white shirt, but not all of it. There was a half-empty box of Kleenexes sitting on the floor beside him. So he’d had a bloody nose as well.

“What the hell happened?” Puck demanded when he managed to remember how to speak again.

Kurt’s long fingers were dancing aimlessly along the back of one of Blaine’s hands. Puck looked more closely at Blaine’s palms. They were rubbed raw. He’d seen it happen plenty of times. Blaine had been shoved down; his face and hands hitting the asphalt at the same time.

“It was nothing,” Blaine said, voice soft. His eyes darted up toward Puck. Seeing Puck’s eyes on at his hands, he folded them away, grimacing as they rubbed on the fabric of his shirt, leaving faint pink stains. “Some guys.”

Puck crouched until he was eye-level with Blaine. “Look at me.” He waited until Blaine’s eyes met his. “This? This is not nothing. This doesn’t just happen. It takes some seriously pissed off people to do this.  _I_ have never even done this to someone.”

Blaine looked away again, pulling his arms tighter around himself. Kurt rested his head on Blaine’s knee. “It’ll be okay.”

“Let’s get you to a doctor.”

“No!”

The vehemence in Blaine’s voice surprised Puck. Kurt drew away slightly, his arm falling away.

“Blaine--”

“No,” Blaine said. “I’m fine. I just… I want to go home.” He looked back and forth between the two of them. “Please?”  
Kurt looked up at Puck helplessly. “Um…”

“Are you good to drive?” Puck asked.

Kurt glanced apprehensively at the steering wheel. “I… think so?”

Puck shook his head. “You’re not good to drive.”

He dug out his phone, searching through it for Finn’s number. It rang three times before Finn answered, voice raised over Rachel singing in the background.

“Where are you?”

“Listen, man, something came up. Tell Schue I’m sorry. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Monday, then. Whatever.” He flicked his phone shut. “Let’s go.”

Kurt stood, slinging Blaine’s arm over his shoulder. He managed to kick the door shut, but the keys were in the pocket pinned between them. Puck stepped in; ducking under Blaine’s other arm.

“I’ve got him.” He began leading Blaine toward the car. It took him a few steps to realize the strange noise he heard every other step was Blaine hissing in pain. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so.”

Puck braced Blaine against his side and reached around him to open the back door to his truck. It had been a gift from his mother with the strict stipulation that, “If you’re going to commit a crime again,  _don’t do it with my car_.” He’d managed to fix it up into a fairly reasonable ride, but he couldn’t help but wishing he was driving something a little lower to the ground. He had to shove Blaine up and into it, with his heart breaking a little bit every time the other boy half-whimpered in pain. He was turning around to see if Kurt needed help with anything when he heard Blaine’s voice.

“Puck?”

He looked back at Blaine, who looked very small sitting in the back seat, arms again wrapped around his stomach, face pale beneath his bruises.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I told Kurt not to tell anyone, but he was freaking. He didn’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. We take care of our own.”


	2. Chapter 2

Puck got another 911 text three days later on Monday, right as he finished class.

 

_From: Kurt Hummel_

_dalton_

 

When Puck finally reached Dalton, going at least twice the legal speed limit, he was surprised to see the main and East lots were largely empty. He was beginning to think that private schools were just excuses for people to pay a lot of money for their children to never attend class. There were two cars in the West lot, Kurt’s SUV and a rusty, white car parked immediately behind it. Puck swung into the lot, slamming on his breaks and jumping out of his truck.

There were three guys dressed in street clothes, two bent over a shape curled into a ball on the ground. Puck could see someone holding Kurt back. He was tall and easily twice as wide as Kurt. Which meant that the shape on the ground, with his arms protecting his head, was Blaine.

One of the boys above Blaine looked up at the sound of Puck’s car door slamming. He said something to the one next to him, sprinting toward his car. The one holding Kurt tossed him to the ground and followed them. They were driving off before Puck even reached the narrow strip of grass between the parking lot and school. Kurt had stumbled over to Blaine and was kneeling, hands hovering over him, uncertain of where, or even if, he could touch him. Blaine was still half-curled in a ball. Now that nobody was trying to kick him, he’d wrapped his arms around his stomach, comforting some unknown hurt there. His face was white beneath the three-day old bruises and fresh blood.

“Who the fuck are they?” Puck demanded.

“Nobody,” Blaine said, his voice strained. He put his left hand to the ground to push himself up, but he fell back to the ground with a sharp cry of pain, pulling his hand into his chest.

Kurt helped him to half-sit, resting Blaine’s head in his lap, fingers trailing through the hair that had fallen loose around his face. “We thought we could leave before they got here. They completely ignored me this time.”

“Which is what they should do,” Blaine said. His voice was getting stronger, although he still sounded shaky. “This isn’t about you.”

Kurt had opened his mouth to make a retort, but Puck reached out. “Let me look at your wrist.”

The wrist was already swelling when Blaine held it out. “What did you hear when you fell?”

Blaine gave him a long look, probably sorting between a myriad of biting responses. Puck waited, Blaine’s wrist unnaturally warm in his hand. At last, Blaine settled on, “I was a little bit distracted.”

Spectacularly unhelpful. “Pop or snap, Dalton.”

“Pop.”

“Good. Snap is bad. I want you to move your wrist as far as you can without it hurting.  _Stop_  when it hurts. And don’t show off for your boyfriend. You could just hurt it more.”

Blaine moved his hand gingerly. It had a better range of motion than Puck had expected, but not as good as he’d hoped.

“I don’t think it’s broken but I don’t know for sure.”

Blaine reclaimed his arm. Kurt was still sitting behind him, hands on Blaine’s shoulders, as though he planned to keep Blaine from going anywhere, as if he were in any condition to go if he’d wanted.

“Who were they?” Puck asked.

“Just some guys. They’re nothing to worry about. And they’re probably done now, anyway.”

“Doubt it,” Puck said. “These kinds of people don’t stop unless someone stops them. They could have seriously hurt you. Both of you. More seriously than you already are.”

“They’ll get tired of it eventually,” Blaine insisted. “Kurt, help me up.”

Kurt stood, took a moment to brush the dirt and grass from his clothes, and then bent to help Blaine to his feet. On reflex, Blaine reached down with his left hand to help himself. He pulled back as soon as he put weight on it, nearly sending them both tumbling back to the ground. Kurt managed to keep his balance and pull Blaine to his feet, slipping an arm around his waist to keep them both standing. A brief grimace passed across Blaine’s face, but he smoothed it away.

Puck caught the expression. “No doctor?”

“No,” Blaine said. He might have looked more intimidating if he hadn’t been covered in a collection of old and new bruises, flecks of dried blood, and a bright red gash above one eyebrow that still bled sluggishly.

“All right, Warbler. In the truck.” With Kurt’s help, they deposited the battered boy into the back seat. Once they’d gotten him settled in, Puck asked, “What is your family thinking about all this?”

“They’re not,” Blaine said, shifting to find a comfortable position. “Traveling Europe. Gone the next two weeks.”

“Of course they are,” Puck grumbled. He looked back from Blaine to find Kurt giving him a reproachful look.

“Not the family,” he mouthed, shaking his head.

Puck rubbed the back of his neck. The last thing he needed was to worry about a broken-home rich boy. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Blaine’s eyes were closed when Puck missed the first turn to his house. Kurt was talking to him a low voice, hands twining nervously around Blaine’s right hand. Blaine occasionally nodded or shook his head, which was enough to satisfy Puck that he wasn’t passed out. Or dead.

Whenever Puck glanced in the rearview mirror, the two of them were sitting closer together. When they’d first arranged Blaine in the car, he’d had his forehead leaning against the cool window, leaving bloody smears Puck would have to clean up before he got home. By the time he reached Lima city limits, Kurt had worked his way across the back seat to Blaine’s side. Blaine’s head was nestled against Kurt’s neck, with Kurt’s arms wrapped around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine’s eyes were closed, but Kurt’s were wide open, staring at Blaine in some strange mixture of love and terror.

Blaine looked exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes, entirely separate from the bruises. Puck would have laid good money on the bet that he’d been kept up nights worrying about these “nothing” boys. He didn’t know what Blaine was refusing to tell him, but he was beginning to get a pretty good idea. Whoever these people were, they weren’t just bullies. They were after Blaine.

After Kurt had gotten back from his failed spying at Dalton, he’d told all of New Directions about the boy who’d transferred there to get away from bullies. And he’d told them about Dalton’s no-tolerance policy. Repeatedly. Puck was not an idiot. Two plus two equaled Blaine’s bullies from his old school.

Blaine finally opened his eyes when Puck swung into a parking spot and stopped. He gazed around them for a second, perplexed. “Where are--No.”

Puck ignored him, stepping down from his truck and walking around to the back seat. He half-expected Blaine to lock the door, regardless of the remote in Puck’s pocket, but he looked too tired for even that much of a confrontation. He eyed Puck as though trying to gauge what he would be willing to attempt to get him into the hospital.

“Yes.”

“I’m fine.  _You_  said it wasn’t broken.”

“I said I didn’t  _think_  it was broken. I’ve seen broken wrists on the field, but that doesn’t make me an expert. I wouldn’t even know what to do with it if it wasn’t broken. And if you can’t breathe for the reason I think you can’t breathe, then there’s no way I can not bring you to the emergency room.”

Blaine remained stubbornly in place. Puck slipped an arm beneath Blaine’s knees, another behind his shoulders, and lifted him from the car. Kurt scrambled after them, slamming the door. Puck was glad for his years in football. He’d expected Blaine to be lighter, as small as he was, but he weighed more than Kurt, which he probably should have expected. They hardly needed half the team to throw Kurt in dumpsters. One of them could have done it just fine.

“What are you doing?” Blaine demanded, breath hitching in pain, arm going around Puck’s neck to keep himself from falling. “Put me down.”

“The hell I will,” Puck said. “If you’re not going to come nicely, I will carry you.”

They made it half way through the parking lot before Blaine relented. “I’ll walk, just put me down.”

Puck settled Blaine back on his feet, but kept a firm grip on his upper arm, marching them straight into the emergency entrance of Lima Central Hospital. A nurse took one look at Blaine and ushered him into a room, ordering Kurt and Puck to stay in the waiting room.


	3. Chapter 3

They’d been sitting in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes when Puck felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out and grimaced. Kurt looked over his arm at the display.

“Who is it?”

“Finn.” He flipped the phone open. “What’s up?”

“Why aren’t you at practice?”

Kurt leaned in and Puck tilted his phone so Kurt could hear. “I’m busy. Something came up.”

“Dude, Mr. Schue’s getting a little pissed. You can’t keep skipping Glee.”

“Some things are more important than Glee,” Puck snapped. He took a deep breath, feeling bad for his outburst. It wasn’t Finn’s fault he suddenly had to contend with bullies that weren’t him or the football team. “Tell Schue things have gotten… complicated.”

“What kind of things? Puck, we used to be best friends. I don’t--”

“Family things,” Puck said vaguely. “Nothing big, but I just need to spend some time with them.”

There was a long silence from the other side of the phone and Puck could almost imagine the dejection on Finn’s face. There had been a time when Puck could tell Finn everything, when he’d talked about his father, or his mother, or the things he wanted for his sister. Then he heard Finn sigh. “Well, if there’s anything you need…”

“Thanks.” Puck snapped his phone shut. “There had better be a good reason why I’m lying to Finn.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said. He sounded so sad that Puck felt bad for his annoyance. Again. “I didn’t know who else to text. I was panicking. Blaine was bleeding and I didn’t know…”

“I meant what I said. We protect our own, even if that means driving across Ohio to pick them up after they get beat up.”

“I don’t know what to do. Blaine has been so scared of these guys for so long and I know he talks about courage and all, but I don’t think he knows what to do about them. I’m afraid they’ll…”

“What?”

Kurt buried his face in his hands. Puck noticed for the first time that the boy was shaking. He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt’s fingers curled around the denim and pulled it tight.

“What if they come back? They only left today because you came.”

“Are you worried they’ll start on you?”

“No. I’m… I’m terrified of what they could do to him. People have died.”

“Hey,” Puck said, turning to face him. “Stop. Right there. Nothing is going to happen to him. Either of you. I won’t let it.”

A nurse stepped into the waiting room. The room fell silent, a dozen or so pairs of eyes watching her as she scanned first the room, then consulted a file she was carrying in one hand. Puck felt Kurt’s hand grip his.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured.

“Kurt Hummel?”

Kurt stood, the jacket falling from his shoulders. Puck paused long enough to pick it up from the floor and followed Kurt.

“Is he okay?” Kurt was asking when Puck reached his side.

“The doctor is just finishing with him. You can see him when she leaves. Room 102.”

Kurt sprinted in the direction she pointed. Puck made to follow him, but the nurse stopped him. “What happened to him? On younger children we’d associate some of his injuries with recent abuse, but he has no long-term evidence of it. He says he got hurt playing hockey.”

“Rough game.”

“It’s not hockey season.”

“Do you think he was lying?”

“I don’t know what help you think you’re doing for your friend by lying for him, but if he’s in trouble, we have people who can help.”

“Well,” Puck said, looking over at the nurse’s nametag, “Missie, if Blaine says he got hurt playing hockey, he did. If he says he got stepped on by an elephant, then that’s what happened. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go check on my friend.”

He turned and strode off in the direction Kurt had gone. Kurt was standing just outside the door, practically bouncing up and down on his feet waiting for the doctor to leave.

“…Boys will be boys, you know,” Blaine’s voice said. He was sitting up on the bed, which Puck took to be a good sign. The doctor had her hands on her hips.

“Mr. Anderson--”

Blaine made to get up off the bed, but the doctor put her hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down. He didn’t fight her. “We’re still waiting on a few more tests, but if those come back clear, you’ll be free to go.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

She left, pausing for half a step in the doorway, looking down at Kurt and Puck, before continuing without saying anything. Kurt dashed in, leaving Puck to follow.

“Blaine? Are you okay? What’s that?”

Blaine took Kurt’s hand. His left hand was wrapped in a bandage. “I’m fine. I just hurt my wrist when I fell. It’s not broken.”

Kurt pressed his hand to his mouth in horror. Blaine stood slowly, wrapping an arm around Kurt. “No, no, no. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“They could have killed you.” Kurt’s voice was muffled by Blaine’s shoulder.

“They didn’t. I’m so sorry you got involved in this. They’re just petty. They know nothing they say can hurt me, so they have to try to hurt me some other way.”

“But they’ve beaten you up twice. At Dalton. Where you’re supposed to be safe.”

“We’ll just have to be a little more careful.”

Puck cleared his throat. The boys jumped apart almost guiltily. He held up his hands. “No need to stop on my account.  _Somebody_  should be getting some. But now that it’s looking like Blainey-boy isn’t going to pass out, we are going to have a talk.”

“Blainey-boy?” Blaine echoed.

“You’re going to give me the name and number of one of your Warblers. Then you’re going to give me the names of the kids who are doing this to you and where they go to school.”

“This hasn’t really been a talk,” Blaine said.

Puck shrugged. “I didn’t really mean for it to be one. Kurt, how about you give us a minute.”

Kurt glanced between the two of them. “I’ll… go get some coffee.” He slipped out the door and shut it behind him.

Puck sat on the chair beside the bed and looked up at Blaine. “The kid’s terrified.”

“He doesn’t need to be. They’ll leave him alone.”

“He’s worried about you. Fuck, Blaine, do you know what you look like?”

“I know.” Blaine sighed, pressing his hand against his ribs. “They found some… ‘massive bruising,’ was the phrase they used. They took an X-Ray, but didn’t see anything broken…”

“And?”

“She thinks there might be some kind of internal injury. That’s what those tests were for.”

“How bad?”

Blaine shrugged. “She wouldn’t say. Just don’t tell Kurt.”

“You don’t think he deserves to know?”

“Later. When this all blows over.”

“So… you’re just going to keep running all your life? And dragging Kurt with you this time? Kid deserves better than that.”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t stop them. And…” Blaine trailed off, looking over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “I think I love him. I haven’t told him yet, and I can’t just leave him now.”

“I’m no good with relationships. The real ones. But I promised Kurt that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. So I’m going to get that name and number from Kurt, and we’ll see what we can do.” Puck grinned, standing up. “And if I get to beat someone up, then that’s even better.”

“I don’t know why he called you,” Blaine said. “But I’m glad he did.”

“I’ll go find him. He’s probably pacing back and forth in front of the coffee machine, wondering when he’s allowed back in.”

Blaine laughed, but nodded. “Hey, um, Puck?” When Puck turned back around he said, “Please don’t tell him anything I said, okay?”

“Dude. I’m a fortress.”

Kurt had made it past the coffee machine and was lurking by the nurses’ station, a full cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He walked over as soon as he saw Puck.

“Is he okay?”

“I didn’t smother him with a pillow, if that’s what you’re worried about. Do you have a name for me?”

Kurt handed over a napkin with a name and number written on it. “He’s one of Blaine’s closest friends.”

“I think he wants to see you. I’ll call,” he looked at the napkin, “David.”

“He’s always been pretty protective of Blaine. Swear him to silence first.”

“Warblers storming Lima Central?”

“Something like that.”

Kurt tossed the comment over his shoulder as he vanished inside Blaine’s room, dropping the coffee into a garbage can on the way. Puck looked at the number doubtfully, but began keying it into his phone.  A few seconds’ pause and “Total Eclipse of the Heart” blasted out of his phone.

Puck jerked it away from his ear. “What is  _with_  these Warblers?”

“Hello?” a voice said, cutting off Bonnie Tyler’s voice.

“Is this David?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Puck. Noah Puckerman. I’m a friend of--”

“You’re one of the New Directions guys, right?”

“Yeah. Are you alone?”

“I can be. Hang on just one second.” Puck heard David making a handful of excuses and some chairs scraping. A door opened, and then closed. “Okay. I’m here.”

“I need you to swear not to tell anyone about this, especially not the other Warblers.”

A pause, then. “What’s happened to Blaine?”

“You need to--”

“Okay, fine. Is he okay?”

“He’s in the hospital.”

“He’s  _what_?” David’s voice cracked and he had to pause to clear his throat. “Where? Which one?”

“Lima Central. The ER.”

Puck could hear the door opening and then closing again. “I’ll be right there. What happened to him?”

“He’s gotten beaten up. Twice. How haven’t you noticed?”

“Fuck,” David hissed. Despite himself, Puck grinned. He thought the Dalton kids didn’t know how to swear. “It was probably those bastards from his old school.”

“How long will it take you to get here?”

“I practically live in Lima. Give me five minutes.”


	4. Chapter 4

Puck was pretty certain it was nowhere near five minutes later that the hospital’s doors whooshed open and three guys in Dalton uniforms walked in. Puck groaned mentally. Way to keep this quiet. Didn’t they own any other clothes?

The blond in the back pointed at him, and all three headed his direction.

“Puck?” the one in front asked. Puck thought he remembered seeing him before.

“Yeah.”

He reached out to shake Puck’s hand. “I’m David. This is Jeff,” he indicated the blond, “and this is Thad,” he pointed at the brunette behind him.

“What happened to not telling anyone?” Puck asked, after he’d shaken hands with all three. Apparently Dalton taught manners even during a crisis.

“We don’t have Warbler’s practice Monday and Friday. They were at my house,” David said. “Where is he?”

Puck sighed and looked over toward the room. The doctor was walking out, a manila file in her hand. She looked frustrated, but a voice over the PA sent her jogging toward another room.

“The doctor just left, so let me check before you go barging in.”

All three nodded, but they followed right on Puck’s heels. It was, Puck thought, like having three spectacularly annoying singing puppies. The door was cracked open and Puck slipped in, giving David, Thad, and Jeff a look to remind them to stay in place.

“Blaine? Kurt?”

They were standing by the edge of the bed, foreheads close together. At his voice, they jumped apart, Kurt hitting his hand on the railing of the bed hard enough to make a loud crash.

Puck coughed to cover his laugh. “You have, um, a visitor?”

Blaine stared at him for a second, but the door opened and all three spilled through, Thad taking the time to close the door behind them.

“I thought you were only going to tell one,” Blaine said.

“I tried.”

David walked past all of them, coming to a stop a foot or so from Blaine. The room fell silent for the few seconds it took David to make his assessment. Then he threw his arms around Blaine and hugged him.

“You  _idiot_.”

“Ow!” Blaine yelped. “Dave. David! Bruises.”

David let go. “Sorry. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I was a little busy getting kidnapped to a hospital,” Blaine said. “And before that, I was more worried about Kurt.”

Three faces turned toward Kurt. He flushed bright pink and sent a glare Blaine’s direction. Thad, the closest, turned Kurt to face him. He brushed at a spot on Kurt’s cheek and rubbed his fingers together. “Cover-up?”

Kurt shrugged. “My dad would have freaked if he saw it. And I’m fine. As soon as Blaine stepped in, they left me alone.”

David drew Blaine a little aside, although the room was small enough that everyone could hear. They all fell silent when David began speaking anyway.

“Was it the guys from Westerville High?” Blaine didn’t answer. “Blaine, was it?” More silence. “Look at me!”

Blaine looked up at him, but still didn’t say anything. David must have seen something in his face, because he nodded and hugged him, more gently this time.

“We’ll take care of it,” David said.

“David, don’t--”

“We’ll take care of it,” Thad said firmly. “Are they letting you go home yet?”

“I’m supposed to come back if anything starts hurting. More than it already does. But I’m free to go now.”

“Why don’t you and Kurt start working on the discharge papers,” Puck said. “I want to talk to these guys.”

Blaine gave them a long look, but Kurt pulled him from the room, leaving Puck alone with three of the Warblers.

“How the  _hell_  did you not notice?” Puck demanded.

“Dude, chill,” Jeff snapped, taking a step forward. “How were we supposed to know? We haven’t seen him since Thursday.”

“Stop,” David said, putting a hand on Jeff’s shoulder and pulling him back. “Thad and I are seniors; we only see him when he comes by the senior commons. Jeff only has class with him Tuesday and Thursday. And Blaine isn’t exactly the ‘sharing and caring’ type when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Well he’s lucky to have friends like you,” Puck said sarcastically. He saw David’s hand tighten on Jeff’s shoulder and changed the subject. He didn’t want to start a fight with these three, even if he did badly want to punch someone. “We need to do something about these guys.”

“Sean, Tim, and Garrett,” David said. “They’re the reason Blaine transferred to Dalton. At first it was just verbal stuff, calling him names, insinuating things about him and his family. They told Blaine he was gay because his father abused him, or some such bull. His father never touched him.

“After he became more open about it, they started hurting him. Initially, it was just pushing him in the hall, but eventually it escalated. They pushed him in front of a car once. It was in the parking lot and they were only going a few miles an hour and he was fine. They broke his collarbone at his Sadie Hawkins dance. His parents transferred him after that.” David gave them all a serious look. “It took him a long time to tell me that, so keep your mouths shut.”

Puck’s stomach had been twisting uncomfortably through David’s speech. He’d known Blaine had transferred to avoid bullies, but it was worse than he’d imagined.

“We’ve got to do something,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Thad said, “but what?”

And that was when Puck had the brilliant idea he knew would be coming eventually. “You three watch him at Dalton. Those guys ran when I showed up. As long as he and Kurt are never alone, they shouldn’t have any problems.”

“So… we’re supposed to stalk our friends?” Jeff asked.

“They’re safe in Dalton, as long as they’re inside. We just need to make sure they’re in their cars and driving before we leave,” David said.

“That’s where the three of you come in,” Puck said. “I can take care of them in Lima.”

“People are going to notice,” Thad said. “It’s not like Blaine Anderson showing up looking like someone beat him into the ground isn’t going to attract notice first of all, but if we start acting like bodyguards…”

“The bruises on his face are starting to fade already,” Puck said.

“We could tell Wes you were trying to teach Blaine to do flips,” Jeff suggested.

David snorted. “And what? His face hit every piece of furniture in my house?”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Puck said. He hadn’t been sure about bringing the Warblers into this, but after this conversation, he felt reasonably sure that it was the right thing to do.

“Blaine isn’t going to like this. He doesn’t like people making a fuss over him,” David said.

“Kurt’s worried about him. He’ll agree if we use that.”

“You are frighteningly efficient at manipulating people,” Thad said.

Puck shrugged.


	5. Chapter 5

It was Wednesday, in the middle of class with the one teacher who  _actually_  cared if her students were using their phones, when David’s name appeared on Puck’s phone. He flicked it open.

 

_From: David Warbler_

_Look what you’ve created._

 

“Mr. Puckerman. Would you care to share with the class?”

Puck snapped his phone shut and stuffed it in his backpack. “Sorry, Ms. Krakowski.”

He gave her his best smile. He wasn’t able to check his phone until after class. By the time he did, he’d gotten a whole string of forwards from David.

 

_Forward: Thad Harwood_

_Kurt & Blaine have Hist nxt hr, right?_

_Forward: David Thompson_

_After phys ed, make sure someone’s with them we’ve got tennis today_

_Forward: Jeff Sterling_

_Got them. ;)_

_Forward: Thad Harwood_

_Whats with the winkie face, Sterling?_

_Forward: Jeff Sterling_

_I was being cheerful!_

_Forward: Jeff Sterling_

_History w Lofgren not Mendez. Future reference_

_Forward: Thad Harwood_

_Colin says theres three strange guys lurking in w lot_

_Forward: David Thompson_

_Keep them on campus for lunch today_

_Forward: Jeff Sterling_

_Halls r clear, time to move the package!_

_Forward: David Thompson_

_We’re not the secret service, Jeff._

_Forward: Jeff Sterling_

_Package is en route._

_Forward: Thad Harwood_

_Really, Jeff?_

_Forward: Jeff Sterling_

_Package has arrived._

_Forward: David Thompson_

_…_

_Forward: Thad Harwood_

_Youll never make it as secret service Jeff. Give it up._

 

It wasn’t until that Friday when Puck realized what he’d gotten into by agreeing to look after Blaine and Kurt in Lima. He’d gotten a text from Kurt earlier that day informing him that he and Blaine were going to be at Breadstix at eight, which was why he was searching through his contacts for Santana’s name. He found it finally under Bitches!, Santana, because she was always renaming herself and his phone insisted on listing people by their last names first.

He’d listened through almost the entire first verse of Kelis’  _Milkshake_ before Santana answered with a cheerful, “Jew-boy!”

“Beautiful love goddess!”

“What do you want?”

It took Puck a good ten minutes to explain to Santana what was happening, after swearing her repeatedly to silence. Once he finished, it took him five seconds to get her to agree to come along.

At Santana’s insistence, they got to Breadstix half an hour early. She spent that half hour prowling around the parking lot, making Puck clear every person who came in. She even made him guard the door for five minutes after Blaine and Kurt got there.

“I told you if they were going to come, they’d have gotten here first,” Puck said when she texted him that he could come back.

“Well, what if they hadn’t?” Santana countered. “I ordered for you. The food’s here. Sit down.”

She pointed at the only open seat left in the booth. Santana was sitting next to Kurt, blocking him in the corner. Puck sat where she indicated, between Blaine and the aisle. Kurt and Blaine started eating in silence. Santana leaned back against the bench, crossed her arms over her chest, and watched the boys eat.

It took Kurt and Blaine a few seconds to notice her staring at them, and as soon as they did, they began to eat more slowly, until Kurt put his fork down emphatically.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re on a date,” Santana said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You should be doing date stuff. Talking. Date talk.”

“Repeating ‘date’ isn’t going to make it more of one,” Kurt said.

Puck almost laughed. The two of them spent the next fifteen minutes arguing about what exactly was expected during a date. Eventually Blaine joined in and the initial awkwardness of the evening was broken. Santana still watched them eat, sending Puck to walk around the restaurant every ten minutes or so. But Kurt and Blaine seemed to enjoy themselves. Even when at the end of the night, Santana sent them off with a suggestion and a lewd wink.

\---

It had been long enough that Puck almost thought they were safe. He’d gotten a few texts from David early on in the week, but they had all been that everything was clear. When his phone rang in the middle of rehearsal, Puck’s stomach sank.

“Hello?”

“It’s David,” the voice said. “You need to get here. We have a… situation. Come in the main door. Thad will be waiting there for you.”

Puck nodded, before he remembered that David couldn’t see him. “We’ll be there.”

He caught Santana’s eye and flipped his phone shut, nodding toward the door. She stood up, pausing by his chair, and they sprinted out of the room together, leaving a stunned silence behind them. Puck thought he heard Finn and Mr. Schue calling after them, but his mind was set on Dalton and the boys there.

A third trip to Dalton, faster even than the two before. Thad was waiting impatiently just inside the door.

“What took you so long?” Thad asked, leading the way down innumerable, identical halls.

“Puck’s faster than his truck, if you know what I mean,” Santana said.

Puck gave her a look. “We got here as fast as we could.”

Thad led them to a classroom that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. All the desks were pushed to the sides and the only light came in from the windows. Blaine was pale, his hand tight on Kurt’s. Kurt was doing a remarkable impression of someone who wasn’t scared half to death. Jeff was pacing, his hands shoved in his pockets. David was standing near one of the windows, staring out. He’d spun when Thad had thrown open the door.

“What’s going on?” Puck asked.

David pointed to the window. A white car was parked behind Kurt’s SUV. He could see five people sitting inside, all watching the school warily.

“The rest of the Warblers have already gone home, otherwise I’d just grab a couple of them.” David shrugged. “We could have just driven them home, but I think we’re all ready to end this.”

Puck nodded. “No, this has to end. Santana, you with me?”

Santana flicked her hair over her shoulder and straightened her back. “Damn straight.”

“You three, come with us. Dalton, Princess, stay behind us.”

“Puck, you don’t need to do this. They’ll go away,” Blaine said.

Puck didn’t even bother to argue this time. “Stay behind us. David, let’s go.”

David led the way to the door, stepping aside to let Puck exit first. They all filed out after him, Santana at his right, David and Jeff on his left. Thad walked beside Santana.

“Out of the car,” Puck called, raising his voice just enough so it would carry through the car’s open windows.

There was a moment’s hesitation. He could see two of the guys in the back look at each other, and then up at the driver. He and the other two were already moving, opening their doors and stepping out. All five came a few steps forward, like some strange mockery of a football lineup. A couple of the guys even might have been football players.

“We don’t want any trouble,” David offered.

Santana snorted and tossed her head in a way that implied she most definitely wanted trouble.

“Why’re you protecting the fa--”

“Oh, no,” Santana interrupted, taking a sharp step forward. “You do  _not_  get to call them that.”

Puck fumbled for her arm and managed to catch her elbow, pulling her back to his side. “I’m willing to try to solve this without fighting…”

One of the guys laughed. Puck recognized him from before. The big, hulking one who’d been in charge of keeping Kurt from the fight. A whisper from behind supplied the name. Garrett.

“What? There’s five of us against you, a girl, two homos, and three daddy’s-money-private-school boys.”

Puck found himself grabbing at Santana’s arm again. She was shouting at them in Spanish so rapidly that Puck couldn’t even guess at what she was saying. It probably wasn’t too polite.

“I wouldn’t count the girl out so soon,” Puck said, once he’d dragged her back again. “Besides, it looks like your two boys there don’t look so thrilled about this. I say we start fighting, they run like daddy’s-money-private-school boys.”

There was a slight disagreeing sound from behind him, but Thad silenced Jeff with a gentle smack to the shoulder. Puck took a step forward; the two boys he’d been referring to took a step back. Santana followed; the two boys turned and ran.

“I didn’t actually think it’d be that easy,” Santana whispered to Puck.

“I didn’t either.” But as the two started running away, the other three sprinted toward them. “Stay behind us,” he reminded Kurt and Blaine.

It was a short fight. The three boys from Westerville High may have been good at beating up defenseless kids, but they were not so brave when it came to people who could, and would, fight back. Tim got in a lucky shot at Thad’s stomach, but Jeff tackled him to the ground. Garrett managed to half-shove Puck against one of the trees. Sean never stood a chance. Santana dropped him to the ground before he could even get a hand on her. By the end, Jeff had a grass stain and Puck had a bruise on his jaw. Tim’s nose was bleeding, Garrett was cradling his arm, and Santana was hauling a whimpering Sean to his feet. By his hair.

“You’re going to leave now,” Puck said. “And you’re not going to come near Blaine or Kurt again. Are we clear?”

“You’re not going to be here all the time,” Garrett said.

“No, we won’t be,” Puck said. “But do you want to know what happens to you if you touch them again?”

“Why do you even care? They’re fucking fags--”

Sean’s voice cut off with a high-pitched squeal and another thud. Puck turned around in time to see Santana’s knee in Sean’s groin, her fist in his face. “Lima Heights, bitch.”


End file.
